


Desperate Measures

by Tedronai



Series: Everything Is Better with Asmodean [8]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Book 07: A Crown of Swords, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-12 20:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3353864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedronai/pseuds/Tedronai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taim wants to prevent Rand from sneaking off to get himself killed again. Rand wants to sneak off to kill Sammael. Asmodean wishes everybody would just chill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of the dialogue between Rand and the Asha'man (and Min, actually) are straight from the book; I'm sure you'll notice which. That's a necessary evil of revisiting scenes that exist in the canon.

Mazrim Taim strode in through the gateway, the Asha’man called Estevan Marle at his heels. “Has he woken up?” Taim asked without preamble. When Asmodean shook his head, he grimaced. “At least that means he hasn’t run off to get himself killed again.”

Asmodean chuckled despite himself. “I believe Miss Farshaw would have something to say if he tried.”

“I suppose she would,” Taim said wryly. “She’d with him?” He barely waited for the answering nod before he went on. “You remember Asha’man Marle?”

“Indeed I do,” Asmodean replied. “In full uniform this time, I see.”

Marle flashed a lopsided grin. “And you, master bard, have acquired a new coat.”

“Several, in fact,” Asmodean said. “I just wear them one at a… time…” He trailed off, cringing internally at the attempt at humour. There was a reason he didn’t usually do jokes; he’d do well to remember it.

“…If you two are done comparing wardrobes?” Taim interjected. Marle put on a suitably chastised look, but Asmodean had the feeling that it seemed to be hiding an amused smirk. If Taim was aware of this — and Asmodean wasn’t going to assume anything else — he ignored it, at least for now. Instead he turned to Asmodean. “Do you know the city well?”

“Well enough not to get lost,” Asmodean replied. “Why?”

“There’s a wine merchant called Harvin, not too far from the Sun Palace; he’s one of my contacts in the city—”

“You have spies in Cairhien,” Asmodean said blankly.

Taim shot him an irritable look. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Well, no, but—”

“In that case, if you would be so kind as to let me finish?” Taim didn’t wait for confirmation; he nodded towards Marle and continued, “Marle will be taking up a room above Harvin’s shop for now. If al’Thor vanishes again, or anything else happens that he doesn’t deem it necessary to inform me about but you think I should know… Any message you give to Marle will be brought to me immediately, at any hour of the day.”

Asmodean stared at him. “That’s… that’s convenient,” he managed eventually.

Taim flashed a wry almost-smile. “That’s the point,” he said. “We need a communication channel if we’re to keep him alive to reach the bloody Tarmon Gai’don.” He turned to Marle again. “You may leave. I’ll see you again once I’m done here. Give Harvin my instructions in the meanwhile.”

Marle saluted briskly and left through another gateway, leaving Asmodean alone with Taim.

 

For a moment Asmodean watched the other man in silence. Outwardly Taim was… well, Taim; in charge, radiating competence and confidence and inexhaustible energy. Taim had a presence that dominated the space he was in, Taim drew the eye and made crowds part probably even without his dark reputation. It was oddly reassuring when you were on the same side, Asmodean reflected; the effect was likely the opposite on his enemies. Yet somehow…

“Is something wrong?” he asked, hesitantly, not wanting to look like an idiot if he had misread any part of the situation — if nothing truly was wrong or if his tentative friendship with Taim wasn’t yet at a point where such a question would be acceptable — but he didn’t think he had.

Taim looked almost startled. “You mean aside from the fact that we don’t know if the Dragon Reborn is going to live?”

“He will,” Asmodean replied by rote. “They all say he’s recovering. Well,” he hurried to amend, “Flinn says that if he was going to die from this he would have already.” He let out a slightly nervous laugh; he liked Damer Flinn well enough, but the man was just completely incapable of lying convincingly. “The Aes Sedai don’t appreciate his input, of course. After all, he only did what none of them could ever have dreamt of; what does he know?”

Taim snorted. “I wish I could say I’m surprised.” He sighed and looked towards the door that led to al’Thor’s bedroom. “You say you taught al’Thor,” he said after a while, sounding oddly hesitant.

“I did,” Asmodean replied warily. “Well, it’s sort of an on-going process. Every now and then something still comes up that…” He trailed off; this was irrelevant. He cleared his throat and revised his approach. “How come?”

Taim seemed not to notice his verbal stumbling. “What precisely did you teach him?” he asked.

Asmodean blinked. “What, do you want a list of weaves?” He instantly regretted his snappish tone; to say that the topic made him uncomfortable would have been an understatement. “I’m sorry. It would be… considerably easier if you just told me what it is you’re after.”

After a pause that seemed slightly too long, Taim spoke again. “Do you know how to ward dreams?”

Relieved that the question was so harmless, one that he could answer honestly, Asmodean hurried to reply, “Yes, I can teach—” He cut off as the implications of the question sank in. “Is… there a reason you’re asking?” he asked cautiously. Taim said nothing, which in itself all but confirmed Asmodean’s fears. “Mazrim, this is important,” he tried again, a frantic tone creeping into his voice.

“Nobody calls me that,” Taim snapped, but the anger in his voice was a distracted sort.

“I don’t care,” Asmodean replied. That was not exactly true — he did care and on some level he was curious to know more, but for the purposes of the topic at hand it was irrelevant. “Please, just answer me.”

Again Taim hesitated before speaking. “It may be safer if you don’t know,” he said slowly. “Safer for you.”

If there had been any doubt before, now there were none. Asmodean felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. He should have expected this; he should have expected the Chosen — the other Chosen — to try and use Taim and the Black Tower. There was still the matter of Osan’gar, who had not made another appearance since that night after Dumai’s Wells. Asmodean should have seen this coming, he should have prepared for this somehow.

Some of his fear must have shown on his face, because then Taim spoke again. “I’ll deal with this,” he said, a picture of unfailing confidence and reassurance. Asmodean could almost see him facing down one of the Chosen. Asmodean could almost see him surviving the encounter. “Just teach me.”

 

Before Asmodean could say anything, however, there was a commotion in the other room. He looked at Taim, who looked back in perfect understanding; either al’Thor had woken up… or died. Several moments passed. Then the door opened, and a group of Aes Sedai marched out of the bedroom, followed by another group of Wise Ones. Several of the Aes Sedai shot frosty looks at Taim as they passed, but for once Taim ignored them completely. He barely waited until they were gone before striding into the bedroom, Asmodean close at his heels.

They found al’Thor with Min Farshaw, Damer Flinn, Jahar Narishma and Jonan Adley. Al’Thor was out of bed and almost fully dressed — neither of which, Asmodean was relatively sure, he shouldn’t have been. His face darkened as he saw Taim and Asmodean; it seemed to Asmodean as though the look he gave him implied that he should have somehow kept Taim away, although how he could possibly have done that, he had not the foggiest idea.

“Taim,” al’Thor said, his voice equal parts irritation and challenge. “What are you doing here?”

“I hope to stop you from doing anything exceedingly stupid,” Taim replied, looking pointedly at the boots al’Thor was in the process of pulling on. “Were you going somewhere?”

“Illian,” al’Thor said curtly.

The silence following the statement was so chilly Asmodean was almost surprised he didn’t feel the room temperature drop several degrees. “Flinn, Narishma, Adley; leave us,” Taim commanded. The two younger men moved towards the door, but Flinn looked at al’Thor for confirmation, and as the others noticed this, they stopped as well, looking faintly embarrassed.

Al’Thor was giving Taim a look that would have made most men tremble in fear. “They’ll stay,” he said quietly. “Whatever you have to say, Taim, you can say in their presence.”

“If my Lord Dragon says so.” Taim’s voice was taut with anger, promising a storm, and Asmodean wondered once again what he had done wrong to always land in the position of witnessing potentially deadly clashes between titans. “You’re in no condition to run off to face Sammael,” Taim continued. “I have no idea what you’re hoping to accomplish by throwing yourself at him when you can barely stand, and frankly, my lord, I don’t give a damn! You’re playing with the fate of the world, going against any one of the Forsaken alone, and doing so before you’re fully recovered is pure hare-brained lunacy!”

“Taim,” al’Thor interjected, but Taim either didn’t hear or ignored it.

“I should fetch those Maidens of yours and see what they’d have to say about this plan of yours! I should fetch Cadsuane Sedai back! I should fetch Bashere and have him sit on you; don’t think he wouldn’t!”

“Taim!” Al’Thor’s voice cracked the air like a whip, amplified with a toned-down version of the weave Taim had used at Dumai’s Wells. The three Asha’man and Min were staring at the two men, looking varying degrees of alarmed and scandalised; Asmodean was torn between wanting to laugh at the looks on their faces and wanting to hide. But at least now, Taim was listening. “This is not a negotiation,” al’Thor said with surprising calm.

“You very damn nearly got yourself killed less than three days ago,” Taim went on doggedly, if in a somewhat more reasonable manner. “You’ve been unconscious for two days. _You’re not up to this._ ”

“I have to be,” al’Thor replied. He flashed a humourless grin. “By now, the entire world probably knows that the Dragon Reborn lies dying from a grievous wound. You can count on Sammael having heard. I must move quickly if I’m to catch him unawares. I may never get an opportunity like this again.”

Asmodean could see that Taim wanted to argue, but eventually he nodded. “Very well,” he said, reluctance clear in his voice. “I’m coming with you.”

 

Now it was time for al’Thor to grudgingly agree. “If you must,” he said. “Once we enter Illian, however, you’re going to do exactly as I say, with no arguments or improvisation because you think you know better. You’ll do as I say, or I will kill you if Sammael doesn’t get you first. Am I making myself clear?” Taim nodded. Al’Thor held his gaze for a while longer before turning to Adley. “The army’s reached the hillforts in Illian already?” he asked. “How? It should have been several more days at the best. At best.”

“The High Lord Weiramon left the foot behind and pressed forward with the horse,” the Soldier began, going on to give a brief recount of the events with the army. “Eben and I began destroying the first palisades soon as we arrived. Weiramon didn’t much like that; I think he would have stopped us, but he was afraid to. Anyway, we began setting fire to the logs and blowing holes in the walls, but before we more than started, Sammael came. A man channeling saidin, at least, and a lot stronger than Eben or me. As strong as you, my Lord Dragon, I’d say.”

Al’Thor seemed startled by the last part. “He was there right away? No, go on,” he said. “Morr was with you last night?”

Adley nodded. “Yes, my Lord Dragon; Fedwin comes every night, just like he’s supposed to. Last night, it was plain as Eben’s nose we’d reach the forts today.” He hesitated for a moment, but when al’Thor said nothing, he went on, “We can save the army, that’s what we can do. Weiramon was still sending charges against that fort when I left, and Sammael cuts every one to rags despite anything Eben or I can do.” He shifted the arm with the singed sleeve. “We have to strike back and run immediately, and even so, he nearly burned us where we stood, more than once. The Aiel are taking casualties too. They’re only fighting the Illianers who come out—the other hillforts must be emptying, so many were coming when I left—but any time Sammael sees fifty of us together, Aiel or anybody, he rips them apart. If there were three of him, or even two, I’m not sure I’d find anybody alive when I go back.”

“Soldier,” Taim said with a warning look, but he didn’t sound as though he disagreed. Asmodean had the distinct feeling he wouldn’t have been too opposed to sending for a couple of hundred Asha’man on the spot.

“Forgive me, M’Hael,” Adley muttered, abashed, then added in a still lower voice, “But we can at least save them.”

“We will,” al’Thor assured him. “You’re all going to help me kill Sammael today.”

None of the Asha’man appeared daunted by the notion. Asmodean would have thought they were all insane, except that it was a thought that didn’t bear thinking about. Min gave a resigned sigh. “I expect you would as soon no one found out you’re gone before they have to, sheepherder.”

Al’Thor gave her a surprised look; he had probably expected her to argue. “The Maidens will want to come if they know, Min,” he said.

 

Asmodean ignored the rest of the exchange as Taim turned to him, speaking in a low voice, “I want you to go to Marle and let him know what is going on. Not immediately, try not to rouse suspicion, but soon. Tell him, if we’re not back by—” He glanced out of the window as if to gauge the time. “An hour past sundown. If I don’t send him a message by then, tell him to… Tell him to…” He trailed off in helpless frustration; if things went wrong in Illian, the entire Black Tower could do nothing. “Tell him to take every man who can be trusted to not endanger themselves and others in a battle to Illian and level the city.”

“You’ll never catch Sammael like that,” Asmodean said quietly, not even caring that the subject matter was dangerously close to things he was not supposed to know anything about.

“I know,” Taim said. “But if Sammael kills al’Thor, it won’t matter, will it?”

Asmodean nodded slowly; if al’Thor died, few things would matter anymore, topmost among them the question of whether Asmodean could find a way to end his life before any of the other Chosen got their hands on him. He made a mental note to find a good, sharp knife before going to Marle. And the courage to actually use it.

“It’s not going to come to that,” Taim added, sounding very nearly convincing, and Light, but Asmodean wanted to be convinced! Taim placed both hands on Asmodean’s shoulders. “Listen to me, Natael. _It’s not going to come to that._ But just in case… Can you do this for me?”

Courage, Asmodean thought distractedly, was a curious thing. Taim needed him to do this, and no matter how much he might prefer to crawl into a hole and hide until the Wheel stopped turning, he knew he was going to do what Taim asked of him. “Yes,” he breathed.

 

Then al’Thor was opening a gateway and waving the Asha’man through. Taim released Asmodean and turned to follow. And as he watched the man’s back retreating, Asmodean suddenly realised that al’Thor was not the only one who might not come back. “Taim!” he called out just as Taim was about to go through the gateway.

Taim stopped and half turned to look over his shoulder. “Yes?”

Asmodean tried to ignore the fact that besides Taim, everyone else in the room was now staring at him as well. “…Be careful?” he said, feeling the full weight of the ridiculousness of his plea; people who were going to kill a Forsaken were damn well going to be exactly as careful as they could afford, without telling.

Curiously, though, Taim didn’t seem to find it ridiculous. A ghost of an almost-smile passed across his lips. “We will, master bard,” he said. Then he turned and went through the gateway, al’Thor following after him, and the gateway winked shut behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

Asmodean perched on the slightly rickety stool by the window, staring out into the darkening night. He felt vaguely guilty for not returning to the Palace and leaving Min to deal with the Maidens alone, but he hadn’t been able to face her too-knowing eyes again, not tonight.

An hour past sundown, Taim had said.

Asmodean resisted glancing at the clock Marle had procured. The Asha’man was keeping an eye on the thing, despite the act of being focused on trimming his nails with a dagger, and Asmodean wasn’t sure whether he wanted time to go faster or slow down, anyway, so looking at the clock was beyond pointless. He drained his glass and set it on the table, trying to ignore the half empty bottle of wine that was way too conveniently within his hand’s reach.

“Go ahead, bard, if you feel like it,” Marle said. “I don’t suppose you’ll be much use for fighting, anyway, if it comes to that, so you may as well be drunk.”

Asmodean forced a chuckle. “You might be surprised.”

“I might be,” Marle agreed, “but I doubt it.”

Asmodean had very little to say to that, so he took Marle’s suggestion and reached for the bottle to refill his glass again. Since the Asha’man wasn’t drinking himself… It would be a shame to let good wine go to waste.

* * *

 

It was but five minutes until the deadline when Asmodean felt _saidin_ being channelled. He wasn’t the only one; Marle, who might as well have been asleep to all outward appearances, jumped to his feet and looked towards the door, where a gateway was opening to admit Mazrim Taim. Asmodean released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding; if Taim was alive, it likely meant that al’Thor was as well, and the world wasn’t doomed just yet. Marle gave him a wry smirk before saluting Taim.

“M’Hael,” he said. “I take it the mission was a success?”

“Rand al’Thor is now the King of Illian,” Taim replied wryly. “The Council of Nine, or the eight of them that are left, crowned him on the spot. And, yes, apparently Sammael is dead.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Asmodean murmured, running a hand over his face. He was half regretting that last glass of wine; he had a feeling that there was something he needed to talk to Taim about but he couldn’t seem to think straight. “Do you… want a drink?” he asked, scrambling for something remotely intelligent to say. “There’s still some… well, there seems to be only one glass, but I guess you can…”

Taim accepted the glass with a thin almost-smile. “I assure you, bard, I’ve endured worse indignities than drinking from a used glass.”

“Oh, but of course—” Asmodean stammered. “I mean I didn’t mean to imply—” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Marle ghosting out of the room, leaving him alone with Taim. “It’s… been a long day,” he finished faintly as the door clicked shut behind the Asha’man.

“That it has indeed,” Taim agreed and drained the glass. He sounded tired, now that they were alone. Hell, he looked tired.

“Was it bad?” Asmodean asked. He took the glass gently from Taim, who barely seemed to notice, and set it back on the table. “The… the battle? Is the city still intact?”

Taim shook his head slightly. “There was barely any fighting in the city,” he said. “Al’Thor lured Sammael out — or the other way around, I’m not entirely clear on that — and they fought elsewhere while Bashere and the Asha’man secured the city. Once the right people found out the attacker was the Dragon Reborn, they surrendered the city quickly.” He grimaced. “The worst part was not knowing whether it was all in vain.”

“I know what you mean,” Asmodean said.

Something like amusement flashed in Taim’s eyes. “Yes. I suppose you do.” He took a hesitant step closer. “Natael…”

 

And something snapped inside Asmodean. Whatever Taim had been about to say, he didn’t want to hear it, he didn’t want to hear Taim speak the made-up name of a jumped-up gleeman in that tone. He closed the remaining distance between them and pulled Taim into his arms. “Don’t,” he said, half afraid that if Taim kept talking he might crack and confess everything, including his true identity. “Please, don’t say anything.”

Taim exhaled slowly, relaxing into the embrace cautiously as though testing thin ice and more than half expecting it to break. Then his arms came up around Asmodean and he held on to him like a man drowning. Between the wine and coming down from the adrenaline rush of the narrowly avoided end of the world, with the fact that everybody who mattered was alive still sinking in—

Asmodean suddenly realised he could kiss Taim. It was a sum of many separate realisations that converged and brought him to that startling conclusion; there was the physical opportunity; he was relatively sure Taim wouldn’t react too badly; he was even almost sure he wanted to do it…

But not now. Not like this; not when they were both vulnerable and so starved for touch they couldn’t think straight. If it was going to happen, it would be at a time when he could with clear conscience say that he wasn’t taking advantage of the younger man. He couldn't help feeling a sense of loss when he realised that this might mean never; he wasn’t sure he’d ever work up the courage to make the move when Taim was being himself. _So be it._ If he couldn’t do it right, he didn’t deserve to be doing it in the first place.

He loosed a shuddering breath and let his arms fall to his sides, trying to gather the strength to detach himself from Taim and make his way back to the Palace. Perhaps Taim would make him a gateway if he asked. He didn’t feel like walking. Either way, he really should be leaving. Taim probably wanted to be rid of him, too, and get back to the Black Tower already.

Taim seemed to sense the shift in the mood and took a cautious step back, fixing Asmodean with a questioning look. When Asmodean offered no explanation, Taim spoke. “Thank you for staying.”

Asmodean gave an awkward shrug; how was he supposed to say that he’d needed this moment probably more than Taim.

“I can take you back to the Palace if you want,” Taim continued when Asmodean still didn’t speak. “Or if you’d rather not be alone, you could come to the Black Tower with me. Just to sleep, bard, or talk if you like,” he added at Asmodean’s shocked expression. “Whatever else you may think of me, know that I wouldn’t take advantage of you like that.”

 _Taim_ wouldn’t take advantage of _him_? Asmodean wanted to laugh. But he didn’t because the last thing he wanted was for the younger man to think that he was mocking him somehow. “Al’Thor is still in Illian..?” he ventured.

Taim nodded. “Unlikely to be back before morning, with the way things were developing when I left.” Something that might have been either a grimace or a wry almost-smile twisted his mouth. “He _told_ me to leave.”

“That was foolish of him,” Asmodean noted distractedly. “But seeing as he’s unlikely to wonder where I’ve gone… That is, yes, I think I’d like to come with you.”


End file.
